Wolfsbane: Aspect of the Wolf

by Jennifer Colgan

  "Plumbing problems?” he asked.

  She rolled her gorgeous green eyes. Why hadn't he noticed those eyes before? Or the waves of lustrous chestnut hair that spilled over her shoulders?

  "Again, thanks to you,” she replied as she followed him into the back room.

  "How am I responsible for your plumbing?"

  "If it wasn't for you, I could get a reputable plumber in here to take care of the problem. Everyone's terrified of the place. Except Mrs. Wenzel."

  "I know her, she's—"

  Something stopped him in his tracks. Whether it was the sudden rush of chilly air that hit him in the face, or the massive circle of ancient runes inscribed on the floor in front of him, he wasn't sure. At the center of the jagged, crudely formed symbol sat a fat black candle, burning merrily against the chill, and four enormous quartz crystals. A bucket of industrial floor paint sat on a pile of newspapers in the far corner of the otherwise empty room.

  "I love what you've done with the place.” Maybe this whole asking-a-witch-for-help idea was just bad, bad, bad.

  "Don't even go there, bucko.” Emilie punctuated her statement with a dirty look. A cute dirty look. “Three layers of paint and four cleansing candles still haven't sucked all the netherworldliness out of this room. I may actually have to do a full banishing in here."

  Bucko? He mouthed the word and gave her a curious look. “A full banishing? As opposed to a partial?"

  "I hate them."

  "Why?"

  "Banishing gives me a major migraine.” She sighed and tossed her mane. Rich brown curls cascaded over the front of her denim overalls. “But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.” She waited a beat while he stared. “And your problem was what again?"

  "Oh. Right.” He gave the runes another sidelong glance and decided to ignore them for now. “It's ... an unusual ... you might think I'm crazy, but just hear me out."

  "I'm hearing. I mean, I'm listening. I've heard it all, you know. I grew up in a house with three generations of witches, so nothing shocks me. What is it? Embarrassing warts? Scum in the bottom of your cauldron? Can't get your broomstick up?"

  Man, she was a spitfire. “My broom—” He had to stop and clear his throat. “My broomstick is just fine, thanks. This is a little more complicated."

  "Spill it."

  He took a deep breath. “My brother is a werewolf."

  "Oh my GOD! Are you kidding? That's unbelievable!"

  Daniel rolled his eyes. “This was a bad idea—"

  She put her hand on his arm. Her face broke into an endearing grin that caused a faint ping somewhere in the vicinity of the middle of his gut. “I'm sorry. I had to. You looked so serious."

  "I am serious. This is very serious. I need someone to cure him."

  She nodded. “It's not a simple thing, curing werewolf ... ish ... ness."

  "You mean lycanthropy?"

  "Yes, I believe that's the technical term.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. The movement seemed to cause a faint groan to emanate from the middle of the floor. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the desperate, hollow sound. “That happens. Now, let's get a handle on this. How old is your brother?"

  "Does that make a difference?"

  "Well, he's not a kid, is he? Teenagers are tough to deal with even when they're not changing into hell beasts three nights out of the month."

  "No. He's twenty-seven. Two years younger than me."

  "Does he know he's a werewolf?” She winced a little.

  He imagined having to break the news to someone would be a bitch. “He knows. But no one else does. Part of the problem is we need to keep this very quiet."

  "I can imagine, Mr. All-Magick-is-Evil."

  For some reason, he didn't take offense at the jibe. To be fair, she'd already warned him to expect a few more zingers. This was number two. He planned to keep count.

  "I don't think all magick is evil,” he replied with a pointed glance at the rune circle. “But having a brother who turns into a murderous, flesh-eating lycanthrope on a regular basis sort of tips the scales, if you know what I mean."

  "Well, at least he's not a vampire."

  "I suppose that's a small consolation. The truth is, he wants to keep this quiet from his fiancée. He's engaged to be married in a couple of months and this would destroy his plans."

  She nodded. “Couples counseling might be in order. If you can't tell the one you love that you're a werewolf—"

  "He can't tell her. And he shouldn't have to. Can you cure him?"

  She met his gaze head on, and that strange ping echoed in the back of his brain this time. What the hell was that?

  "I can try. It's not something I've actually done before, but I know people who—"

  "No! No, no people. No anybody. He doesn't want this all over town."

  "Uh ... it's not a one-person job. With my coven I could—"

  "No covens. No group therapy. No gathering of distant relatives. Dis-cre-tion.” He emphasized the last word one syllable at a time. “I think he'd rather be a werewolf forever than lose his fiancée. She's the love of his life.” Bethany was a wonderful girl, perfect for Vance. He wouldn't let his brother lose the one thing that mattered most to him in the world. “Can you help? Will you help? I know I maybe owe you an apology for my vehemence in trying to get your business banished from the shopping district—"

  "Maybe?"

  "I was thinking of the town—the residents. This is a quiet place, a place to settle down and raise a family."

  "Not a family of demons."

  "Right, not a family of demons."

  "Or witches."

  "I didn't say that."

  She sighed and looked up at him from under mile-long lashes. Were those flecks of gold in her eyes? “I'll need a few days to gather some supplies and do some research. I'm going to have to make a few discreet inquiries. I promise I won't name names. And I'd like to meet your brother before the next full moon."

  "Any time. He works from the house—128 Hillside.” He dug into his pocket for business cards, his and his brother's.

  Their fingers touched as he handed her the cards. Daniel felt a quick electric jolt that heated his blood and turned on all the nerve endings between his navel and his knees.

  "One more question.” If she felt the same strange reaction to their touch, she didn't let on. Her voice had lost its sarcastic edge, though her gaze remained guarded. “Where was he bitten?"

  "In the upper thigh ... I think, sort of, you know ... here.” He patted his back pocket.

  "In the ass?” She shook her head, then pinched the delicate bridge of her pert nose between two fingers. “That's not what I meant anyway. Where in the world?"

  "That makes a difference?"

  "Who's the witch here?"

  "Sorry. He was in Germany at the time it happened. About eight months ago."

  "Yes. It makes a difference. The European lycanthrope is a bit meaner than the domestic breed. American werewolves are more wolf—less demony."

  "So he's the more ‘demony’ type."

  "Probably."

  "You can still cure him, though?"

  "I can try."

  He gave her a long look. Something told him she meant it. Sarcastic cracks aside, Emilie would help him—help Vance. He'd owe her big time. “Thank you. I appreciate it, considering ... everything. Oh, money isn't an issue—whatever the cost."

  "I don't charge. I mean, you know—maybe expenses for overnight herb shipments or something."

  "Fine. Anything you need.” Another awkward moment passed and Daniel recalled his Junior Cotillion, standing with Martha Beckman by the gymnasium doors, too tongue-tied to ask her to dance. What was happening to him? “Anything else you need to know?"

  She shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the runes. “Not at the moment. I'll give you a call when I'm ready to meet with your brother."

  "Okay. Thanks ... again."

  Her gaze slid toward the door
, a subtle invitation to leave. On the way out, he peered into the lavatory again. A steady drip from the shut-off valve created eddies in the widening puddle.

  "I know a decent plumber,” he tossed over his shoulder while heading toward the front of the store. “I'll have him here this afternoon."

  "Uh ... thanks..."

  He looked back and caught her quizzical stare. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

  CHAPTER 3

  "Can't get your broomstick up! You said that to him?” Charlotte Swanson's infectious giggle reverberated long-distance. Emilie held the phone away from her ear while her cousin laughed.

  "It just came out,” she replied. “This guy really brings out my wicked side."

  "So let's talk about his broomstick. Give me details."

  Emilie rolled her eyes as she nestled her teakettle onto the front burner of her kitchen stove. “His broomstick didn't enter the picture, Charl. This is the guy who wanted to run me out of town, remember?"

  "And he just shows up in your store, looking all hunky and hot?"

  "I never said he looked hunky and hot."

  "So what does he look like?"

  Emilie rummaged in her grandmother's antique cookie jar for a chocolate chip ripple to go with her tea. She chewed thoughtfully before answering. “Tall."

  "Compared to you, every guy is tall."

  "Nicely tall. Hunky. Hot. Very intense eyes. Compelling..."

  The thought still bothered her that one long look from Daniel Garrison had left her nearly tongue-tied and ready to agree to anything he asked. She pictured him the first time she'd seen him, with his three-piece suit and embossed leather briefcase, addressing the Mayor of Cypress Park at the monthly town meeting—"Chester Creek nearly destroyed this town," he'd said. "Are we going to allow more of his ilk to run amok here?"

  There. That image effectively drove away any warm fuzzies she'd begun to feel for the man who desperately wanted to save his brother.

  "Buff?” Charlotte asked.

  "Bodybuilder buff. But not—you know—scary about it. Anyway, that's not the point. He doesn't trust magick and I can't see how he can trust me."

  "Well, I can understand that, considering you promised not to tell anyone about his problem and you're on the phone in less than eight hours, yakking to me about it."

  Emilie dangled a bag of oolong into her teacup. “Well, considering you're a thousand miles away, and I need someone to give me some werewolf advice, I'm not going to let it bother me. I told him this wasn't a one-person job. I want to call all the girls, but that would freak him out. Can you send me the book I need?"

  "I'm wrapping it in plain brown paper as we speak, sweetie."

  "Thanks. I'm going to dig around in Grandma's old trunks and see if I can find that wolfsbane amulet she had. Do you know what might have happened to it?"

  "Ah ... if it's anywhere, it's with her medicine stones. Be careful if you find it, though. That stuff will give you one hell of a rash."

  "I'll be careful."

  "And watch out for this guy, too, Em.” Charlotte's tone sobered and Emilie braced for the lecture. Too many men had hurt Charlotte over the years for her not to take a moment to warn her cousin about the potential pitfalls of the slightest romantic entanglement. “Maybe he's all dreamy-eyed now because he wants something from you, but leopards don't change their spots. He wanted you out of town once. Don't assume because he wants you to wax his broomstick that he's gotten over his heebie-jeebies about people like us."

  Emilie's head fell into her hand. “Charl! I'm not going to—ohmyGOD, 'wax his broomstick.’”

  "So you say now. I mean hey—I'm all for mixing it up. You want to have sex with him, go ahead. But that's all. Don't let him get to you."

  "I'm absolutely not going to have sex with Daniel Garrison, Charl. I don't even like him."

  "Famous last words.” Charlotte humpfed and the teakettle whistled. “I'm heading to the post office right now. You'll get the book tomorrow."

  "Thanks, Charl. For everything."

  * * * *

  Daniel marked his calendar on Monday morning, as he did every day. Usually he ticked off days until an important meeting with a client or days left for Christmas shopping, but now he ticked off days until the next full moon. He'd heard nothing from Emilie Swanson since Saturday—except for a message on his office machine, thanking him for arranging the plumber.

  He told himself he was anxious to finish the hocus-pocus and return Vance to normal, but the truth itched at the back of his brain. He wanted to see Emilie again.

  He thought about dropping by her shop today, just to see how things were going, maybe buy a candle or something. She'd probably think he was checking up on her.

  He poured himself an industrial strength cup of coffee and stared at the calendar.

  "You're looking pensive this morning,” Vance said, startling him out of his reverie. His brother looked rather well for having woken up naked next to the lily pond three nights earlier.

  Daniel poured another cup of java as Vance took a seat at the kitchen table. “Just keeping tabs on the witch."

  "The witch? That sounds ominous.” Vance smirked and waggled his eyebrows as he sipped the hot brew.

  "It's her job description, not a snide remark. We've got twenty-three days until you—"

  "Shhh!” Vance gave his brother a severe look. “Beth is asleep upstairs."

  "I didn't hear her come in last night."

  "We got in about 4:00 this morning. Spent the evening by the lake after we finished house-hunting."

  "Is she going to hang around today? We don't know when Emilie will be coming by."

  "Don't worry. Beth has plans this afternoon with her grandmother or something. She'll be gone before noon, but I want to let her sleep in."

  "Too late for that, sweetie.” A head of flaxen-blonde hair appeared around the kitchen doorway, followed by Bethany's slim form wrapped in one of Vance's gray sweatshirts.

  She scrunched up her bare toes as she crossed the terra cotta tiles of the kitchen floor and grabbed a coffee cup from the rack. “What's all the hush-hush about this morning? Don't tiptoe around on my account.” She smiled up at Daniel and sidled past him.

  Vance pushed back his chair so Bethany could snuggle on his lap. Their faces fused in a kiss that fogged up Vance's wire-rimmed glasses.

  "Morning, Beth,” Daniel said. “Sorry if we woke you."

  "It doesn't matter what time I go to bed, Daniel. I can't sleep past eight no matter what."

  Vance gave him a pointed glance over the top of Bethany's rumpled curls. Point taken. Clam up about Emilie for now.

  "Well, those of us who actually have to commute to work better get moving. Have a nice day, you two. Vance, I'll check in later."

  "Bye, bro. Chill a little, okay? You work too hard."

  Daniel rolled his eyes. Bethany waved, then wrapped herself around Vance again. Daniel left the house without a second glance from either of them.

  As he walked across the lawn toward his car, he scooped up the morning paper. The headline of the Cypress Express immediately caught his eye—

  DANGER LURKING IN OAK HAVEN PARK.

  Late night jogger reports encounter with rabid dog.

  A quick scan of the copy confirmed his fears. Someone had seen Vance in wolf form before Daniel reached him. The man hadn't been injured, but the encounter scared him enough to go to the police. The final paragraph of the article assured residents that the mayor had authorized extra police patrols in the park.

  Daniel sighed and climbed into his car, tossing the paper across the front seat. He thought of the windowless basement room where Vance had spent two of his three-night curse this month. The steel padlock had been torn from the hinges, bent with an otherworldly strength. If Daniel hadn't found his grandfather's grimoire and hastily fashioned the holding spell for the silver chain, Vance might have hurt someone. And if Emilie Swanson didn't come up with a cure in twenty-three days or less, he'd h
ave to consider more drastic measures to keep Vance safe during the next full moon.

  He definitely needed to stop by Mystikal Excursions and check on her progress, whether she liked it or not.

  CHAPTER 4

  "There's no way this is going to work.” Emilie shut the spell book that Charlotte had overnighted to her and rested her chin in her hand. She sifted through a number of other references that she'd spread out across the counter and shook her head. “Where am I going to get the blood of a purebred wolf these days? It's not like I can just call up the county zoo. There's got to be a better way."

  Quiet and sunny, the empty shop made no reply. Emilie gathered her paperwork and stacked it on the shelf beneath the counter. She rearranged the office supplies that occupied the same shelf and made a mental list of other sources to try for information on werewolf banishing, shapeshifters, curses and magickal cures.

  When she rose, Daniel Garrison was staring down at her, looking devastatingly handsome in his navy suit and power tie. Her heart gave a strange flutter when he fixed her with that deep gaze of his.

  "You move like a cat,” she said. “I didn't hear you come in.” She made a mental note to get a bigger set of bells for the front door.

  "Sorry. I wanted to see how things were going."

  "They're not."

  "What do you mean?” He got that nervous look again, but this time Emilie couldn't bear to tease him.

  "I have a lot more research to do before I try anything. The spells I've found so far all have nasty side effects if they're worked improperly. And some of them require ingredients you just can't get anymore."

  "Like what? I told you, money isn't an issue."

  She studied his earnest face. “It's not money. It's logistics.” She hoisted all her research material back up to the counter, spread out the papers, and pointed to the trouble spots. “This one requires a tooth from the werewolf that bit the victim. Your brother doesn't happen to have one of those, does he?"

  "I don't think so."

  She pointed to another spell. “This one requires the blood of a purebred wolf. It was written three hundred years ago—when they weren't endangered just about everywhere. So that's a no-go. This one ... well, this one just forget entirely."